


It Feels Right

by ExploretheEcccentricities



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Edmund is grieving, Eugene is a baby, Gen, Quirin gets a little sentimental, from my brotherhood prompt list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploretheEcccentricities/pseuds/ExploretheEcccentricities
Summary: Quirin wonders if wanting can ever feel right. (OR: The Brotherhood finally "babysits" Eugene)
Relationships: Adira & Hector & Quirin (Disney: Tangled), Edmund & Quirin (Disney: Tangled)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 97





	It Feels Right

**Author's Note:**

> This is from one of the prompts on my list of Brotherhood fic ideas! I know many are waiting for the second chapter of "And Now They Must." Don't worry, that will be done soon, I promise!  
> In the mean time... here is a snippet no one asked for.  
> This was inspired by when I was watching Destinies Collide, and Edmund tells everyone to leave. Quirin has this extremely morose look on his face, clearly thinking about the future of the child that could have been the heir to the kingdom and a devoted son to a troubled father.

“That’s right.” Quirin coos quietly at the child in his arms. Ever since King Edmund had departed for one of his rare yet lengthy trips to settle border disputes, the young prince had only just stopped bawling his eyes out. “You’re ok. You’re alright.”

Hector has resorted to lightly banging his head repeatedly against the wall of their room, eyes wide open and twitching every once in a while with barely restrained patience. Sensing his weaning sanity, his bearcats cower in the corner, the dark orbs of their beastly eyes skeptically flitting between Quirin’s hunched form and Hector’s trembling figure.

Adira, on the other hand, is quietly sitting on the ledge next to the open window in what seems to be one of her frequent meditation sessions. However, Quirin could easily tell that she struggled to maintain her trance too, only more subtly and with greater self-restraint. Every once in a while, she would glance back at Quirin with uncharacteristic concern, only to raise her brow when she thought he didn’t notice and resume her futile attempts to concentrate on whatever it was Adira always concentrated about.

“He’s quiet now.” Quirin speaks softly to the distressed man.

No answer.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

Hector huffs in a noncommittal manner.

The silence begins to become infuriatingly suffocating, so Quirin quietly gets up and trudges over to Hector’s unsuspecting form. “Here.” He whispers, making to hand over the sleeping baby.

In an instant, Hector flinches away violently as though burned to the touch. “Gah! Get that thing away from me!”

Quirin smirks good-naturedly, though he allows the small semblance of sympathy to grace his features. He does not know what he was expecting, but he cannot deny that it is still amusing. “Why? He stopped screaming.”

“I can _hear_ that, Quirin.” Hector snaps, though it sounds less irritated and more petulant than his sarcastic drawl should have sounded. “I just…don’t see why you have to keep holding it when it’s asleep. Just put it back in its crib so that we can go back to sparring.”

“Why do you say ‘it?’ You know Horace is a boy.” Quirin prods insistently, intentionally veering around the implicit order. Truthfully, Quirin doesn’t want to resume sparring. Being with this child-however insanely unpredictable it was-gave him a sense of tranquility, a semblance of a peace of mind away from the dangers that kept him running and the fears that kept him awake. This thing-this beginning of a yet-to-be fully formed human being, slept oblivious to the agonies and strifes of the world. All it knew was the soft beat of the heart that held him and the warmth of the love that cocooned him.

For a moment, Quirin looks down at the sleeping child, and is overwhelmed with a strange, tender warmth that blooms in his chest and seeps throughout his entire being like tidal wave-powerful, yet refreshing. It is a feeling that stops his arms from immediately setting the child down, stops his breath whenever the bundle twitches or squirms, stops his voice in his throat whenever the child looks up to him with wide, hopeful eyes. It gently coaxes his fingers along the smooth cheek, the button nose, the barely grown mop of unruly hair. It embeds and grows in his gruff voice as he coos and sings to the earthly pains that mean to keep it awake and away from its heavenly slumber.

“I like it.” Quirin confesses without thinking.

Hector raises his brow, rolling his eyes. “You just said it was a boy.”

“I meant _this_.” Quirin makes a vague gesture with a sweep of his spare hand, and Hector quirks his brow as though trying to understand. “Holding the baby. It feels…right, somehow.”

Hector blinks, clearly perplexed, before the realisation dawns on his face, chasing away the slivers of mischief that tends to linger in his eyes and replacing it with a heavy, almost sullen gaze. The lines in his face go slack, and his eyes slightly widen. Then, as quickly as it happens, the fervent and unyielding stubbornness returns, ready to defend and handle his shock like water to an open flame. It manifests in his laugh-dry and waspish, as though he has forced it out.

“Did you hear that, Adira? Quirin wants to be a _daddy_.” The tone is sharp and accusatory, laced with subtle sorrow and vehement disbelief.

It is a light, half-hearted remark, an arrow without an aim, but it finds and shatters Quirin’s hope nevertheless, capturing and relentlessly gnawing at it as Hector’s bearcat would to a slice of meat, until all that remains is a shriveled portion of a thing he couldn’t enjoy.

Adira looks to the man skeptically as she approaches them, expecting Quirin to refute. When she is only met with his crestfallen expression, she raises her brows in surprise, an unfathomable emotion glistening in her eyes momentarily before she sighs and closes them. “Well, it’s a good thing that all knights of the Dark Kingdom swear an oath of celibacy. There are reasons for that, you know.”

“No, I mean-“ Quirin attempts to interject, only to be interrupted by Hector.

“Think that being a father will be a nice, quiet getaway from your chaotic existence, huh?” Hector continues to ramble, the realisation transforming into petty anger as he advances towards the sitting man, who fights the urge to flinch away and hold the child tighter. “Well, guess what, Quirin? It’s just a whole ‘nother heap of responsibility! Children crying for attention all the time, needing constant tending to, nagging as they outgrow you-“ Hector loudly accounts for each thing on his fingers, flicking them carelessly as though they are merely an imaginary aspect he absolutely detests.

“Stress, boring chores, a real job that probably doesn’t involve _this_ -” Adira adds with growing enthusiasm, grinning as she whips out her sword.

Hector cackles elatedly in response, eagerly accepting the implicit invitation despite Quirin’s apparent discomfort and futile attempts to speak. He readily slams his own sword against Adira’s. “Not to mention pestering wives, no time for _anything_ you actually like-“

“Can you please stop?” Quirin suddenly bursts, but it sounds more like a plea than a definite command. His voice wavers, breath hitching when he realizes the two have actually listened and stopped to stare at him with simultaneous shock and confusion. Then another, unfamiliar feeling splays clearly across their faces. Hurt.

Quirin allows their shock to become his own, frozen in this moment of time and feelings that would never matter. He feels guilty for allowing wanting this for himself-he feels guilty at having expected them to understand. He feels guilty for allowing this fantastical whim to become a real possibility in his mind for the precious minutes he was allowed to hold the baby prince. But most of all, he feels guilty for admonishing his brother and sister in arms-all whom he had- for relaying to him truths about the one thing he could never have.

Who was he to disagree with them? Who was he to want more when they gave him his first friendships and family? His first true smiles, his first sparring lessons, his first battles?

He felt he had violated the sanctity of their bond by even entertaining such a notion-that a man like him could ever be a father.

“I’m back!” A gruff call from the doorway as King Edmund strides in swiftly, interrupting Quirin’s thoughts. Ever since the Queen passed away, Edmund’s presence has been empty as his voice, investing himself in work all day and night with little time to oversee any of their training. The bags under his eyes cast unforgiving shadows over his pale face that clash with the accentuated red surrounding the orbs, the tendrils of dark hair from his unshapely beard sticking out in all directions. Quirin observes intently as the king passes their group several times without casting them a single glance, barking orders to the castle staff as he paces this way and that.

Adira makes nothing of it, and Hector only grins in anticipation. “That’s our cue. Come on, Quirin.”

But Quirin does not budge. He stands there, with his arms tightly wound around the bundle that is the heir to the kingdom and by all right this man’s _son_ \- the very man who continues to pace and holler and ignore the one holding his sleeping child. So like this sleeping child, Quirin waits to be noticed.

Finally, upon seeing that Edmund is preparing to leave once more, Quirin speaks hesitantly. “Your Majesty…”

Edmund whips towards him so suddenly Quirin would have drawn back and clutched the bundle protectively, had he not remembered with morose regret that he was currently holding _his_ prince.

When Quirin doesn’t speak, Edmund’s face contorts, brows furrowing as he prepares to yell at him, only for it all to stop when his eyes glance down to find his son peacefully asleep in the knight’s arms. Quirin steels himself under Edmund’s scrutinizing yet softening gaze. He feels like a schoolboy being caught with something he shouldn’t have, not like a knight who yearns for the blessing that this king possesses-the very king to whom loyalty denies said blessing. For a petrifying moment, Quirin fears the king will use The Glower. However, when Edmund’s eyes leave him, Quirin finds himself releasing a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

Pursing his twitching lips and sighing deeply, Edmund meets Quirin’s eyes once more.

“Thank you for taking care of him.” It sounds cold and insincere-empty as the eyes that stare back at him, as though challenging him to speak more. Stiffly, Edmund turns to a servant and almost hisses. “You may put him to bed now.”

“But sir-“

Edmund does not allow him any more time, sweeping away to tend to other matters. “I found a new nursemaid who will be taking over the child’s care from now on. You all are free to do as you please!”

Adira and Hector share a conspiratorial grin of delight, while Quirin remains frozen, suddenly feeling the emptiness of Edmund’s gesture drill into his heart and throttle the cold remnants of his bridled hope.

King Edmund is alone.

If this was what became of a king who had a cause and a son, what would become of him? The question is unfamiliar and unsettles Quirin. Where could he go, without the Brotherhood and its duties tied to his feet? What could he possibly become, without Adira and Hector?

The servant silently trudges forward and takes Horace. Quirin wants to curl around the child and clutch it-him-that harder, longer, further into the time that means to unravel his everything with meaningless nothings: protecting useless objects, serving useless causes, uselessly sparring for useless hours because his life’s efforts will never come to fruition. He will never be a man who sits with his offspring by the fireplace and lets them believe that despair exists only in fairytales. He will never be a man who rocks a being of his own making to the wonderful lull of otherworldly dreams. He will never be a man who can properly love a child.

As Quirin’s eyes wistfully follow the head of the unconscious baby in the servant’s arms until the door to the bedroom slams shut, he does not notice Adira nudge Hector with a look of disapproval, nor is he prepared when Hector softly pats a hand on his shoulder tentatively.

“Hey, forget sparring. It’s ok if you don’t want to do it. Who wants to go catch a Sneeze Weasel? I bet I can get one this time.” Hector’s cheery demeanour does little to soothe Quirin.

They don’t understand. At this moment, Quirin cannot help but feel as lonely as the king who has everything. A cold dread pulses and grows in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that perhaps Adira and Hector simply did not want what he sought. But did that necessarily mean they did not want a life other than the one they were currently living? Surely, they did see themselves as something other than fearless and skilled warriors. Surely, at some point, they must have sought greater pleasures than the clash of their swords and the chase of nonexistent fables.

Quirin wants to accuse them the same way they accused him. He wishes to feel indignant and infuriated that his wants are invalid and that he is the one who has to submit to their whims. But upon what he has just realized, can he ever hold them accountable for this, when he himself is the one astray and they only wish to fulfill the duty they had sworn to uphold?

“No, you won’t. Because they’re not a thing.” Quirin instead insists drily, rolling his eyes and forcing a strained smile to his face. He feels too undermined by this burdensome truth. It settles heavily into his stomach, drinks away at the dwindling hope he has allowed himself to hold for a moment’s worth of fantasy more impossibly jarring than any magic he has read of the moonstone.

“Well, then Adira and I are going.” Hector states with a petulant tone of finality.

Quirin jolts instinctively “What makes you think I’m not coming?”

“You just said you don’t believe it to exist. You think it’s a joke.” Adira points out, a fond and knowing smile gracing her lips as she carefully pushes her sword into its sheath.

“That it is.” Quirin replies, much to Hector’s chagrin. “But why should that mean I would let you leave without me?”

Adira and Hector stop to stare at him unfathomably for a moment, before their smiles return-special, mischievous, warm smiles that he has known for a lifetime. Familiar and fresh smiles that are as endearing yet daring as the first time he had seen them.

“I kind of assumed you would go off and do your own thing.” Adira admits quietly. Her eyes trace his face, sink into the barely imperceptible creases of tension he strives so hard to conceal, claw away at the layers of lies he has managed to coax himself into believing.

Quirin inhales shakily. “We’re a team. Even if we must do things we don’t agree with or chase legends we don’t understand-“ Quirin inwardly cheers as Hector’s expecting smile crumbles into an irritated frown. “We have to be together, right?” He hopes it does not sound as forced and reluctant as he feels it is. The discordant hope, the vanishing certainty is not because he does not believe the phrase to be true. It is a question that he hopes will allow him to believe it does not have to be true-not all the time. He wants for it to be alright for him to want a life beyond what he has even though he is content with his current blessings.

Despite being a warrior in this estranged magical land, he wants to be able to experience first-hand the magic and might he sees in this tedious and ordinary thing that fatherhood-or rather, proper parenthood- seems to be. However, unlike the child he had held, Quirin realizes he must stay awake. He must actively doubt and think about what he does and says. He must be aware of the necessity his job is, the extremely important, greater destiny he represents as a knight of the Dark Kingdom. He must do things he does not like, he must pretend to like things he happens to be good at; he must feign and fight to salvage the very something he does not want to become. This bond, this blessing, this Brotherhood is all he has, and all he will ever have. He needs to be content with that.

Despite all of that, everything he was and has now is all that matters. If defending that means never knowing this otherworldly sensation again, then he would have to do it. If chasing the world for its woes and hiding secrets and battling demons meant that he would never hold nor sing to nor kiss such an innocent creature he could call his own, then he must be content with that. They all had known what they were agreeing to when they signed up for this, did they not? They were prepared to spend the rest of their lives like this. _He should be grateful._

Adira stares back at him with sincere sobriety, inquisitive eyes soft and sorrowful. For a crazy moment, Quirin even thinks her jaw will drop. It will be the least bit of decorum he has ever witnessed her exhibit. She opens her mouth to speak, but Hector beats her to it.

“We will always be together.” It is a statement made out of conviction, a momentary flash of sanity and truth in a chaotic whirlwind of time and magic that might haunt their every thought and dream for the rest of their existence. Adira closes her mouth and her words with it, yet her eyes still fixate on Quirin’s own, waiting for him to do what he knows to be right. And so Quirin merely smiles and nods in agreement, heading out to what they could never know to be their last trip into the forest.

…

The first time Quirin ever held his son, he was indeed alone, silent and hidden as his brother and sister continued to fight tooth and nail for the causes he had once thought would deny him the life he yearned. But however alone he found himself lying awake under the glare of the ever-observant moon whose curse had dominated his life and consumed his hopes, captured in the dark wisps of restless nights and bustling mornings, he could never regret it, because nothing had ever felt more right.

Yet as he ushers Varian’s first steps away from the forgotten chest with a forgotten mark- away from his buried secrets and gifts from his old family- Quirin wishes to be able to want this without feeling so wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Adira and Hector: Ew, parenthood. Who needs all that noise when you can be badass warriors?  
> Quirin:...BUT DID YOU SEE THAT BABY?  
> Fact: Edmund's Glower was probably more frightening when he didn't force it. :)


End file.
